Thanksgiving

Thursday Nov. 26th.

AWOL is walking down the freezer aisle of a grocery store. The fluorescent lights overhead shine down balefully upon the shopping cart he pushes in front of him, seemingly dwarfed by the size of his massive frame. The wheels squeak, irritatingly. He steers constantly to keep it from turning sideways, smashing into the glass of the freezer door. His dagger glare, penetrating down the length of the aisle, informs all present that he is well aware and affected by these irritations.

He pauses the cart next to a particular freezer cabinet, turning towards the door. He throws it open with an irritated twitch. White mist spills out to the floor. He reaches in, pulling out a frozen dinner. The door slams shut with a loud “thwump.” Reaching down, he wipes off the frost, reading the label. A sigh escapes his lips, echoing from somewhere in the bottom of his boots.

The label reads “Turkey Dinner with Mashed Potatoes.”

He throws the dinner into the cart with his other sundries. He turns the cart back straight again, walking towards the checkout counter. He pauses again, however, as a beeping tone comes from the pockets of his pants. He pulls out a cell-phone, flipping open to the cover. The screen blinks back “1 Message.” He presses a button, revealing the words “From: Maya. Hey, where R U? Had a great time last night. Call me.”

He grimaces, flipping the lid shut and shoving the phone back into a pocket.

A man in a cardigan sweater walks past him, pausing at the exhalation and spying the ugly expression on his face. He stops, looking at him with a concerned expression of his own. “Hey man, it’s alright. Life’s not so bad.”

AWOL looks up, fixing the man with a glare.

***

You made a mistake, Christian Savior. Before the Tag Team Gauntlet at the Overbooked Extravaganza you overlooked me. You wrote me off. I believe you may have spray painted the words “Forgettable” on my chest, or at least on the chest of a cardboard cut-out of me. In your place, as someone who was trying to prove how above an opponent I was, I may have gone with irrelevant or inconsequential, but let’s not quibble over diction. You did this to me, a former world champion from a time when this company actually had competitors that were worth a shit. You did this to a founding member of the fucking Empire, one half of the greatest tag team this company has ever seen, and friend and ally to the greatest champion the company has ever known. Oh, and let’s not forget, you did this to a man who has done what you have promised and failed to deliver on, namely defeating Johnny Kingdom. I am bigger than you. I’ve probably been wrestling longer than you (don’t quote me on that, I can’t be assed to go look at your history,) and anything you’ve achieved I’ve achieved then some. The things you don’t know about me could probably about fill a goddamn book, and you wrote me off as forgettable?

Well.

We know how that worked out, don’t we? Specifically, I walked into the tag-team gauntlet and I pinned you, eliminating you and your stooge from the match and, in doing so, denying you the Cartel Title and your chance to win the world heavyweight championship by defeating Johnny Kingdom. So tell me one thing, Christian.

Do I have your attention now?

***

Wednesday Nov. 25th

Dr. Ferraro- I’m concerned about this pattern of behavior you’re establishing for yourself, AWOL.

AWOL-Pattern?

Dr. Ferraro- Every week you come to your appointment, and it seems like you’ve drop to a new low. At first I was very encouraged by your progress, but now you talk about destroying your employers’ company. You’re going back to your old violent release or aggression in the ring. And now this girl, Maya. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.

AWOL-I’m at a new low? All I said was that I found a new girlfriend.

Dr. Ferraro- Stripper. You just told me you had a one night stand with a stripper.

AWOL-The term is “exotic dancer.” And what’s your point? Strippers can’t be girlfriends?

Dr. Ferraro- She takes off her clothing for money, and there is every possibility that she is doing basically the same thing with you right now. And more importantly, this is a dangerous time for you to be developing any new connections with members of the opposite sex. You shouldn’t be starting a new relationship right now. Anything you try to create will be afflicted with the emotions you’re carrying from your marriage. You’re not looking for a girlfriend right now, you’re looking for validation.

AWOL-Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?

Dr. Ferraro-Besides your therapist?

AWOL-Yes.

Dr. Ferraro-I’m someone who knows. I have experiences with a number of cases like yours. I know what you’re going through.

AWOL-Wonderful, the books told you all about me. I’m very relieved.

Dr. Ferraro-Your tone is very belittling.

AWOL-Maybe that’s because I want to make you feel small. Maybe that’s because I come in here week after week spilling my goddamn guts out to you, and all you do is answer me back with shit I could have programmed a speak and spell to respond with. All you’ve done is make me feel worse and confuse me, twist me up into knots and make it so I don’t know what I’m thinking from one minute to the next. What the fuck do you know about the real world, anyway? All I ever see you do is sit in this goddamn room every day. Do you ever leave? What the fuck do you know about anything?

*sound of a clipboard being slammed onto the floor*

Dr. Ferraro-I’ve been divorced for three years, you insensitive prick!

*a long pause, sounds of loud breathing.*

Dr. Ferraro-I married a banker. He told me he loved me, that everything would be good while we were together. He told me I could trust him, and three years ago I discovered he was sleeping with a woman ten years younger than me. When I confronted him about it, he couldn’t tell me why he did it, just that he got bored with me and looked for someone new. He left me. He left me for that bimbo and now he’s probably off in a goddamn yacht with her while I’m left here barely scraping by on the copays my patients can manage to bring in every week. So yes, Anthony, yes, I know something about what it’s like to have to put your life back together after a divorce. The only difference is that I didn’t end up in this situation because I was an insensitive ass of a spouse.

*another pause. After a moment the sound of the clipboard being picked back up from the floor. Dr. Ferraro clears her throat.*

Dr. Ferraro-I’m sorry, Mr. Wolworth. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to treat you anymore.

AWOL-It’s…it’s fine. I deserved that. We’ve got it out of the way now, we can restart this. We can-

Dr. Ferraro-No, I’m sorry Anthony, you don’t understand. I have a lot of patients that engage in self-destructive behavior because they don’t know any better or don’t understand what is best for them. With you this is not the case. You are intelligent, and I believe you are aware of your situation. You seem to delight in self-destruction. You choose to take the wrong path BECAUSE it’s the wrong path, and I quite frankly don’t think you have the mental focus required for successful therapy. Since we’re laying our cards on the table, I’m tired of wasting my time on someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

***

I’ve been informed that it is necessary for me to add more direct, match related content to my promotional materials. Thus, the direct address. I apologize if the transitions are abrupt, but I thought this was the easiest way of expressing myself clearly regarding this match. So, to be clear, I detest you Christian.

However, unlike our mutual acquaintance Mr. Johnny Kingdom, this detestation does not prevent me from expressing a degree of admiration for your achievements thus far. I currently find myself amused by the prospect of this company burning to the ground, and an important piece of this objective can be provided by the Five Star Society. Frankly, I can think of few things that would be worse for the long term survival of the IWC than letting your bunch of washed-up never-weres run the place into the ground. You’ve got Dan Douglas’ power backing you now. You have more people in your stable than I can really count. Hell, as far as I can tell you’ve either got the World Champion under your boot or signed on as a card carrying member of your stable. Things are looking pretty good for you right now, I’ve got to say. By all forms of measurement, you have this place on the ropes, ready to topple.

You seem, however, to have made a few mistakes. Allow me to provide some pointers.

First of all, your current master stroke appears to revolve around pinning your plans behind the addition of Porno Lad to your stable. I mean, honestly, it feels ridiculous even saying that. That’s the big reveal? The guy in the Xavier mask was Porno Lad the whole time? That’s it? I mean, clearly a man who hires Katelyn Buehler must have an indescribable ability to judge talent, but I have to question this decision. Have you listened to him talk? Have you watched him in the ring? He’s everything that’s wrong with this place, and that’s what you’re going with? What’s the next step, you pull a rubber mask off Dan Douglas and reveal that he’s actually Dink the Clown?

If you want to look like a legitimate threat, surround yourself with legitimate threats. We tolerated Jackson Adams in the Empire, admittedly, but we didn’t push him into the main event. If you were looking for someone to be the muscle for your group, I’m forced to point out that my services were available at the time you were putting this thing together. No call? Insulting. And to be honest, I am not a man it is wise to insult.

Second, you chose the wrong people to make your statement against. Johnny Kingdom and I are not people who respond to your sorts of threats. Well, that’s not true. Actually, you’re getting a response right now, and you’re going to see even more of a response in the future. You had the drop on us before, Savior, and I will completely admit that. Now, however, the cards are on the table. There is no more mysterious Mister X. Porno Douche is now clearly on your side. The battle lines are drawn, and now all bets are off. It is time to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. And, frankly, if you think that I am somehow going to be intimidated by your hatchet…lad coming down to the ring and hitting me with a stun-gun, you have another thing coming. I’ve lost more sleep over taking Hurse to a nice restaurant than I will over the threat of Porno Sad coming down to the ring and interfering in my matches. Step one of the dismantling of your group begins on Riot! this week. Sit back and take notes, actually. You might learn something.

Finally, I’m forced to point out to you that you are, despite what I’m sure you think, not unique or special in any way. Mr. Savior, I’ve faced more opponents like you than I care to recall. You are literally a clone of every greased hair, too high opinion of himself, millionaire, power hungry weasel heel I’ve had the misfortune of encountering in my career. I’m not going to score points with either of you by saying so, but it’s ironic that the person you remind me of most is Johnny Kingdom. Specifically, when he came into the ULW initially he played a game not that different from yours: the parody promos, the run-ins, all that shit. The difference is that, where what he did had substance, you are simply a bad imitation. A carbon copy. He didn’t grab everyone he could and put them into Creative Control, he grabbed one protégé with potential and together they shook the company to its knees. And also, please, as someone who actually enjoys a well-done parody, I have to point out that yours basically fail on every meaningful level to be either entertaining or pointed in the slightest. When you do them correctly, they have meaning. They’re not just a spoof, you put something clever together. You form an allegory. You use the story to prove a point about the person you’re mocking. If you characterize someone, it should be for a purpose. You, on the other hand, seemed to pick Alice in Wonderland because it had enough characters to represent everyone in the match and because it let you call Too Mag and Cagero Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb. You called me “A-Wall” for fuck’s sake. What were you thinking? When you initially had that idea, did you honestly sit down and say to yourself “My word, Savior, you’ve done it again. He’ll be quite steamed when he sees that I’m calling him a room divider.” It didn’t even fit with the story. And the Hurse caterpillar? Fuck, I’m not even going to get into that.

You’re a Xerox scan of every stable-leader I’ve ever seen, is what I’m getting at, and frankly I’m just getting tired of it. You’re all the same, and you’re all equally resistant to the idea that this is, in fact, the truth. That’s why it’s time to end this, and quickly, before I get any more bored of you. Step one is to beat you this week. There is nothing else to it.

It’s just business.

***

The ceiling fan spins silently over the top of the bed. AWOL rests on his back, staring up at it with eyes half lidded. A lithe female form is curled up against him, tucked beneath his arm. Her blonde hair cascades down the bedside behind them, and she purs contentedly like a cat, nuzzling her face into his neck and knocking her glasses askew. A smile creeps onto his face.

Maya-That was amazing.

He grunts his agreement, nodding. She reaches over, twirling a long, manicured fingernail in a circle on his chest.

Maya-So who were you thinking about?

AWOL’s eyes open in shock before quickly narrowing in suspicion.

AWOL-What?

Maya-Don’t be mad. You just weren’t all here with me, I could tell.

AWOL-The fuck are you talking about?

Her lips turn out into a pout, one leg moving under the sheets and wrapping playfully around his.

Maya-Don’t be mad. It’s just that I’ve been with enough guys who were trying to get away from somebody, and I want to get the conversation out of the way now. Who is she? Your wife?

He starts to protest before she reaches up, playfully plucking his left hand into the air, waggling it around by the ring finger.

Maya-Don’t worry, it’s cool. It’s not the first time I’ve spotted the mark from a wedding band on one of my lovers.

He looks like he’s going to argue, but finally shrugs.

AWOL-Ex-wife. She’s my ex-wife. We’ve been divorced for a few months now.

Maya rubs her finger slowly in a circle around the base of his ring finger, giving him a smile.

Maya-Aha, I see. And thus the scar has not faded yet.

He nods.

Maya-I understand. Unlucky for her, but lucky for me.

He smiles again, closing his eyes contentedly.

Maya-So, were you imagining that I was her?

Definite irritation now. He starts to rise from the bed, but she wraps her arms around his neck, holding him down.

Maya-I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You don’t have to tell me. Jesus.

He settles back with a sigh and she resumes her position against his side, laying her head against his chest.

Maya-You don’t have to tell me, but know it doesn’t bother me. You’re with me now, that’s all that matters. I just don’t understand why you’re so touchy about it.

She shrugs.

Maya-I mean, it’s not like I was thinking about you.

***

You see, Savior, there’s one thing you haven’t counted on here. This Mafioso, Gestapo crap that you run on the average joes on the roster relies on intimidation. I know, I’ve done it before. If someone has a belt, you take it away from them. If someone has a good place on the roster, you knock them out of it. If they’ve got a family you kidnap them or threaten them and, if the fans love them, you drag the wrestler into the ring and you make them watch while you beat their hero into submission. It’s not complicated.

The problem is, you can’t do it to me.

You can’t do it to me, Christian Savior, because I’ve got nothing for you to take. The tag title doesn’t mean shit to me, and you don’t have two people in your group who could take them off of Johnny and I anyways. Through one of the greatest fucking injustices in the world you’re somehow higher up in the federation than me, so there’s no point in taking away my place. As this promo no doubt demonstrates, my personal life is a god damned train wreck. And the fans? Don’t make me laugh. Most of them wouldn’t notice if I was gone, and the rest would be probably think you did them a favor.

No, Christian, you have walked into the living embodiment of the man who has nothing to lose. All I am is a miserable son of a bitch who has nothing better to do with his free time than to walk into the most violent venue in the world of professional wrestling and bash annoying pricks like you in the skull repeatedly for cash. And I assure you, Christian, I intend to continue with that hobby during our match. This isn’t about winning or losing, it’s about the start of things to come. This is the opening salvo that leads up to this thing’s conclusion at the next pay-per-view. It’s like what Connery said in The Untouchables: you put one of ours in the hospital, now it’s time for us to put one of yours in the morgue. And, unless Cagero has officially signed on the dotted line with your group, there is exactly one Empire versus 5SS match on the card.

So I guess you drew the short straw.

***

Thursday Nov. 26th

“Hey man, it’s alright. Life’s not so bad.”

AWOL reaches up, wringing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“Do you do that a lot?”

The man looks confused.

“Do I do what a lot?”

“Make stupid statements to random people.”

The man’s jaw drops open.

“Do you know what the problem with telling people ‘Life’s not so bad’ is?”

Without waiting for a response, he reaches out with one hand, snatching the man from the ground by his throat. AWOL steps forward, his sneering face an inch away from that of the man in the cardigan sweater.

His voice is a sinister whisper. “Eventually you meet the guy whose life really is fucked up beyond recognition, and maybe he’s tired of this shit, and maybe he has this tin can of Jolly Green Giant brand green beans in his free hand,” He hefts a one gallon can of the vegetables, holding it up next to the man’s face, “And maybe he loses his fucking mind and bashes your skull in with it because he can’t stand the sound of false fucking pity from a complete stranger who could give a shit anyways.”

His nostrils pulse, rhythmically, as the bystander’s eyes widen in terror. AWOL raises the can, his arm physically twitching. He wants more than anything to swing, to be thrown out of this place, to be arrested and fired and thrown into jail. He can see the spray of blood, picture the brain matter splattering against the frosted glass. It’s sweet. He can taste the coppery warmth of the red gore in his mouth. He wants it, more than anything.

But he doesn’t. He drops the man to the ground, reaches up, and brushes off the front of his sweater. He tosses the can onto the ground and turns back to his cart.

AWOL walks away, snorting in disgust. “Life’s not so bad,” he chuckles.

“How’s your life now, asshole.”